Snow Angel
by LadyDragon1316
Summary: Haven burned. The Inquisition fled. The Herald remained to fight. But...shouldn't someone stay behind and wait for him? What if something had happened? What if he needed help? Someone had to go back for him. ...Why not her?
1. Hand in Hand

**I am _weak_! I promised I wouldn't start in on Dragon Age fanfiction until after I'd finished one of my big Elder Scrolls project. But I just couldn't stop myself! So here we go, my first Dragon Age fanfic. Yippee for Dragon Age: Inquisition. It set a fire in my brain.**

"Come on, everyone. Keep moving! Don't stop!"

The refugees ascended the slope as quickly as they were able, spurred on by the commanding voice of Commander Cullen up ahead and the terrifying sounds from behind. Their home, Haven, was lost. Everything below seemed to be burning, the dull roar of the fires not quite drowning out the sounds of battle and screaming. And the dragon. Maker help them, an Archdemon circled and dove and burned. Haylee couldn't remember being more terrified than she was now.

They hurried, although some not as fast as others. Haylee was among those who struggled without the excuse of exhaustion or injury. She'd never dealt with snow and now she was being called flee into the mountains. It was difficult, but she toiled on, knowing her difficulties were nothing compared to that of others. How many below had died to see them escape? How many remained below to hold off the enemy and give them a chance?

One they all knew for certain: the Herald of Andraste.

The enemy had come for him, so he'd stayed behind. And of his own volition. He'd stayed behind to hold the enemy's attention and allow the people to escape, knowing full well he might not have the chance to follow.

Haylee squeezed her eyes shut and managed to keep her feet from sliding with every step. _Maker, protect him. Please…please, Maker, protect him!_

As she came even with her, Haylee heard Seeker Cassandra shout down the line of refugees and soldiers, "Get them above the tree-line. Hurry!"

Haylee followed the stream of people as they struggled up the slope and through the snow, worrying for those injured among their number, for those still fighting and dying down below, for the Inquisitor who was saving their lives with a selfless act. And wishing she could do _something_ to help.

Behind her, there was a flash of light. Haylee whirled around and saw that the Tevinter Mage, Dorian, who the Inquisitor had taken into his inner circle, had fired a powerful flare into the sky. Everyone had passed the elevation limit that the Commander had imposed. Why were they sending such a signal? Wouldn't the enemy now _know_ they were up here?

As if in answer, Haylee just saw a projectile through the tree as it was lobbed from the burning remnants of Haven toward the mountains. She realized its intent halfway into its flight, and over the rush of wind and low din of fleeing refuges, she yelled out, "No! The Herald is still down there!"

Her words were swallowed up by the roar of the mountain as the projectile found its mark, striking into a mass of snow with enough force to loosen the entire slope. The fleeing refugees were now beyond its path, but Haven… Maker, no!

A soldier caught her shoulder when she tried to surge back the way they'd come, as if she might be able to stop the descent. But there was nothing to be done. Haylee watched in horror as the avalanche descended upon Haven, burying it and everyone still within. In less than a minute, the light of burning Haven was snuffed out like a match, but not fast enough to catch the Archdemon, who rose above the crest of the avalanche's descent with a roar, defying the mountsin's attempt to destroy it. Almost too fast to process, Haven was buried under hundreds—perhaps thousands—of pounds of snow.

The Herald… Maker, no—!

Haylee was turned around and urged onward, falling once again into the flow of the refugees. She barely saw their progress. Barely noticed the cold. When they paused briefly to tend the injured and give rest to the weary, Haylee collapsed at the base of a tree.

He was dead. The Herald of Andraste, their hero, their leader… No one could have survived such a cataclysm. Someone noticed she was shivering and Haylee found another heavy cloak dropped around her shoulders. She didn't see who and didn't care. Didn't even care for the added insulation. Not when the Herald was—.

No! It couldn't be. Andraste herself had delivered him at the Conclave. Marked him with the power to close the sky. He couldn't be dead. She couldn't allow it. He was Her _Herald_. Somehow, She must have delivered him. Somehow, he must have survived. He must have!

Over the thoughts of her own mind, Haylee heard the call go out that they needed get moving again, but she couldn't bring herself to obey.

If he was alive, he would follow them. He would follow them up the mountain. But he could be hurt. Maybe badly injured. Even if he knew the path they had taken, would he be able to follow. Haylee glanced around at the procession of people who were now moving past her. Shouldn't someone remain behind to watch for him? To make sure he was alright? She saw the dwarf, Varric, and the Qunari warrior, Iron Bull. Weren't they his fighters? His friends? Shouldn't one of them remain to watch for him?

She glimpsed a few more of the Herald's inner circle. They were almost as famous to the Haven population as the Herald himself. And while some of them cast furtive glances over their shoulder, all of them continued on, pressing the people to keep going and repeating that safety had not yet been reached.

Haylee didn't know what took hold of her. Truly, she didn't. It was just that…_someone_ had to stay behind. _Someone_ had to make sure the Herald came this way and was alright. Haylee squirmed a little back around the tree and curled tighter, putting it between her and the procession. Her little travel pack cinched up against her hip. There wasn't much in it: a water skin, some hard tack and a precious bottle of a healing potion that she'd bought some time ago with what little gold she had, meant for emergencies. The pack was all she'd been able to grab before disaster had completely overtaken Haven tonight. It wasn't much, but perhaps just enough to help the Herald.

…if he'd survived…

…if he made it all the way to this point…

…and if she didn't freeze or die before she could give it to him.

Haylee listened as people passed her by on the other side of the tree. This was foolish. She didn't know how to survive on her own in the mountains. She didn't know how to deal with the cold, or even how cold it could get up here. She should tell someone else to stay behind, or at least suggest it. Someone who was more capable than she was, and more likely to be of help when the Herald was found.

Instead she let them pass, listening until the sound of crunching snow had died out and she was alone. Haylee felt a little pain in her chest. No one had noticed her. Or even noticed her absence. No small wonder. She was very shy and hadn't made any friends since coming to Haven. She wasn't anyone important. If anyone did notice her gone, they'd probably assumed she'd died in Haven. No…no one would notice if she didn't come back.

Haylee stood up and tugged both of her coats around her, and stepped out from the tree line. She could stay here. The embers in the little fire-pit weren't quite dead. She could stay here, try to stay warm and wait to see if the Herald came. The woman looked down the slope, trying to discern where the avalanche's first mark lay on the descent. But there were too many trees and bents and outcrops in the way. Could the Herald even get up this far by himself? What if he was badly wounded? How far up would he get at all?

She stood for a moment, thinking…then started walking down the path the refugees had left in the snow. Just a little further. Somewhere she could sit and look down a distance. It was cold. Her feet were already numb. Haylee faced the very real possibility that she would freeze while keeping watch for the Herald. But that didn't slow her steps. She wasn't important to the Inquisition. It would lose nothing from her absence. But the Herald… If she could help the Herald, even a little… Yes, she would give her life to do that.

XXX

The blizzard rose up out of nowhere. Haylee didn't even know it was a blizzard at first until the winds built upon themselves and began pressing her bodily back the way she'd come, biting snow biting against her exposed skin. In only a few minutes, the stretch of slope she'd finally found in the direction of Haven was obstructed by a sheet of white, driving snow.

Haylee hugged herself to a tree and held her outer cloak tightly. Maker, what had she been thinking? What had she been thinking, staying behind on a mountain!? She hunkered down by the tree, the winds defying her attempts to block them from her person. Maker help her, it was so cold. She couldn't feel her hands or her feet. Her lungs were surely frosted over within her, and ever movement was a struggle. Yet she still tried to stay looking down the mountain, however far she could. It was so cold, the world seemed so empty and her body only just within her control. But perhaps she should go a little further. A little further down. A little further…before her legs gave out entirely.

The woman had just managed to rise and take a step forward when a smudge appeared in the blinding white of the blizzard. New thoughts came to her mind that might have prevented her from undertaking this foolishness: what if the enemy followed the refugees' path instead of the Herald? What if it was a Red Templar that she met on this path instead!?

That thought held her to the tree as the smudge became a silhouette, and the silhouette became a figure. Those was one of the longest moments of her entire life, peering at this approaching figure, wondering if it was friend or foe, hoping painfully that—

Yes! It was him. It was the Herald! She recognized the armor. It was the armor that the Herald always wore. And his hand—there was an eerie green glow around his left hand. It _was_ him.

And he was wounded. The elation at having found the Herald after only hoping was replaced with dire concern. He was struggling, and not just from the cold. At least she didn't think it was. The Herald's pace was slow but resolute. His head was down as he fought his way against the blinding snow. And his movement was slow and he was limping, favoring his right leg.

One bad step, he flinched and his right leg gave out. Haylee looked on, waiting for him to rise. Her legs might not get her all the way to him at this point. Except he did not rise. The Herald remained where he'd fallen, on his knees, his head bowed against the driving sleet and snow. It looked as though all previous resolution in his step had drained away. No. He couldn't die now. Not now. Haylee pushed off the tree and struggled toward him, fighting the winds and her own lethargy, driven by his need.

The Herald's head twisted and he looked up, catching movement out of the corner of his eye and squinting as he realized he was no longer alone. As she came to stand in front of him, Haylee realized this was the closest to the Herald that she'd ever been. Gazing down where he knelt, she could actually see the color of his eyes: hazel with green starbursts around the center. And…Maker, he looked so tired. Pushed beyond his limit. Hopeless.

The air was too cold for breath, let alone words. But she didn't need them to help him. Haylee's frozen fingers would barely cooperate as she shed the outer coat and wrapped it around his shoulders. The frigid winds assaulted her anew, but she could barely feel it anyway. With some urging, and by way of a small miracle from the Maker, they got his arms into the sleeves before the wind could rip the garment away from them. Haylee next drew out the precious little healing potion from her bag and pressed it into his hand. The Herald seemed not to know what to make of it for a long moment. She needed to remove the stopper and guide it to his lips like one might treat a child. And he accepted her attendance, as compliant as a Tranquil, his eyes trained on her the entire time, almost unseeing.

Maker, this was so strange. The Herald of Andraste was a legendary figure for all that the tragedy of the Conclave was only a few months ago. Many spoke of him as a giant among men, a living saint, or even a demigod. Haylee would be lying if she claimed not to subscribe to at least some of what was said about him. To do everything that he did, the Herald had to be someone extraordinary.

But seeing him right now, on his knees as he gazed up at her so strangely, Haylee realized… There were dark rings around his sunken eyes made all the more prominent by his terribly pale skin. She saw the little pock marks on his cheeks, the chapped splits on his lips, the pale scar along his jaw line. His shoulders were hunched against the winds as though he bore a terrible unseen burden upon them.

He was human.

The revelation did not stunt her desire to help him. When the vial was empty, Haylee reached out and took his hand. At first contact she felt a prickling jolt of energy. Looking down, she realized she'd taken the hand bearing his Mark. It felt so strange. Alive. Pushing and pulling, and breathing as though it had a life of its own. But, more than that, it revitalized her, its energy rushing into her unbidden and forcing life and feeling into her limb. It was just a little, but enough. She squeezed his hand and tugged, urging the Herald of Andraste to his feet. He stared at her, lost. And then…he lifted one knee and put a foot under him. One false start, and he rose up, even his burdened height well above her own. Haylee squeezed his hand again, receiving a nearly pleasant jolt of energy from the mark which traveled further up her arm, loosening her numb and stiffening muscles, and drew him forward. There was still a long way to go, and perhaps…perhaps she would even make it.

One step at a time, they ascended the mountain together. Haylee again regretted not thinking her actions through. She should have left marks, or told someone she was going back. Anything to ensure she could find her way back to the Inquisition now that the Herald was here. Instead, they toiled on blindly, following what remnants that the refugees had left behind in their flight, praying a path remained to follow.

The fire-pit that marked Haylee's rash decision was the first such sign. When the Herald saw it, he went straight for the propped wooden stakes, as the ring of stones was well buried by the snow. He did not kneel, perhaps too afraid he would be unable to rise a second time, and brushed aside the snow and embers to investigate them. But all were cold. Now long had it been since Haylee had doubled back? Too long. It was getting darker and colder with every passing moment. Haylee squeezed his hand encouragingly and he followed her on at the urging.

It was such a long walk, made all the longer with so little to see in the white-out. Sometimes she would lead, drawing the Herald up what she prayed was the right path. Sometimes he would walk ahead, shielding her from the blustering winds and keeping her going when Haylee otherwise would have fallen, never to rise. And sometimes they walked side by side. They drew strength from one another. She could tell. He might stumble or come to lean against a tree. Their eyes would meet and she would see a shade of the hopelessness from before. But she wouldn't allow it for long. He could not fall now. She would not let him. A squeeze of her hand and a tug forward. Such little things, but here in the cold and dark and aimless, it was everything. He would breath and stand, and on they would press. Together. Maker knew she would have given up long ago if not for his presence.

And all the while, never a word was spoken. And their hands remained tightly clasped, the Mark singing its strange song into her bones.

They passed more remnants of the refugees' trail, thank the Maker. An overturned cart here, a fallen crate there, or another fire pit made and left cold in the snow. How often had they stopped? How fast had they traveled? Could she and the Herald reach the Inquisition before the cold finally outdid them both?

It wasn't until the storm began to wane that Haylee realized where their path was set toward. As the driving winds eased, the blizzard fell away, and two mountain peaks could at last be seen rising up on either side of them. And the path they had trod led toward their center. Haylee prayed fervently that it was a pass and that the Inquisition were not far beyond it.

The trees had grown sparse at this elevation. The rocky slopes closed in upon the two who toiled. Up above, the clear sky was now revealed, stars glittered with more clarity than Haylee had ever seen in her life. A sparkling blanket unmarred by the moon's light which seemed garish by comparison.

Haylee forced her knees to bend and move, though they were loath to do so. Another fire-pit was set amongst the rocks on the slope. The Herald leaned over and brushed the embers aside. They glowed and hissed as the cold found what heat remained. Recent. She looked up toward the pass. The Inquisition was close. The Herald knew it too, as he tightened his hold on her hand in response and pulled her forward.

These last few yards were the worst. Their bodies were cold, numb, spent. With the promise of their company so close, their limbs seemed only now to admit how little they had left in them. The stone exposures grew steeper and closed in. Was it a dead end after all? No, there was space between them. A couple yards through which to pass. The stone walls drew close but did not touch. And beyond it… Was there light beyond? The glow of lamps and campfires just visible over the threshold of that pass? The Herald squeezed her hand and Haylee returned the gesture, too winded to speak, her lungs as frozen as the rest of her. Their path steepened, outcrops jutted up more often, obstructing them. But they pushed. Just a little further. Just a little…yes! The closer they got, the clearer it was that there was something to be reached!

They toiled up the final steps and at last crested the peak of the pass. Oh, Maker be praised! In the shallow valley below, the Inquisition was spread. Tents were erected, people and animals rested, fires burned and lamps glowed. They had made it! In all her life, Haylee had never seen such an awe-inspiring sight as the culmination of this trial. And here they stood, she and the Herald, in the silence and the snow, together. Out of sheer relief, she squeezed his hand and received an identical gesture in answer.

The silence of their report was shattered by shouted words, in the deep directness of Commander Cullen's. "There, I see him!"

And another elated expression, this time in the Seeker's tone. "Thank the Maker."

They were few in number who came rushing toward the pass from the other side. But the sheer magnitude of the approach of the Herald's inner circle was enough to dispel the precious sense of accomplishment that had gathered around the two of them. At least for Haylee. She and the Herald were no longer companions, bonded together by clasped hands and unspoken words. Perhaps on the mountain below, it had been so. But here? Here, among _these_ people, he was the Herald of Andraste, their friend, comrade and leader. And she? …She was no one. A no one who had hardly thought her actions through before risking her life as she had. Her rashness could just as easily have caused the Herald's death as saved it.

As the members of the Herald's inner circle drew near, Haylee attempted to draw away from him so as not to impede their reunion. But, to her surprise, the Herald tightened his grip so as not to allow it. He kept her at his side when Commander Cullen and Seeker Cassandra reached them, with the mage, Solas, and the dwarf, Varric, close behind, and still others behind them. And every one had eyes only for the Herald.

She felt the mark on his hand spark strangely as healing magic fell on the Inquisitor from the mage and Commander Cullen immediately put the Herald's free arm over his own shoulders, providing much needed support as the Herald's knees quavered. Seeker Cassandra attempted to do the same on his other side, but the moment she attempted to separate the two of them, the Herald tightened his grip even harder on Haylee's hand and straightened his arm, bringing her shoulder to shoulder with him. The act nearly upset them both, their legs already threatening to give way beneath them, and drew a number of eyes to her at last. The eyes of the Inquisition's inner circle, full of curiosity and perhaps some suspicion. Haylee quivered and pointed her own eyes to the snow at her feet.

The disruption didn't last long. The Inquisition's inner circle was too intent on delivering the Herald into the camp to bother much with the 'no one' he'd brought along. In fact, she couldn't see how anyone would think that _she_ had been the one to go after _him_ in the first place. The healing magic passed over to her in what seemed to Haylee to be an afterthought as they all move down into the valley.

It was a different sort of trial to stay upright amidst the throng of people trying to 'help'. Haylee remembered little of how they made it into the camp proper, except that the Herald refused to relinquish his grip. Even when they ushered him at last onto a cot and threw a half dozen blankets atop him, he still held on, dragging her to her knees next to him.

Haylee's mind wasn't working to well at this point. But she knew the Seeker when she demanded, "Who is this woman?"

Someone unfamiliar answered, a queer quiet voice that didn't seem…right. "An angel out of the snow. There and not there. An angel to take him to the Fade. Only she didn't."

"What's he—?"

"Would someone get this…_him_ out of here?"

"Guide. Guardian. Can't let go. Mustn't be lost again. There's more to do now. And it's safe in her hand. Safe. Swaddled. She knows the way. Someone has to. Someone does. Can't let go or I'll be lost again—"

Haylee had no idea who was talking or what they were talking about. She could barely comprehend anything. All she wanted to do was fall asleep, even if it was on her knees right here. Just so long as the Herald was alright.

Figures moved on the edge of her vision. Edges which were getting blurry and dark. She felt the Herald's mark spark again like when they'd used healing magic on him before. Haylee felt someone try to pry their hands apart again, but the Herald just held on tighter. She could actually feel some pain through the numb. His eyes fluttered, teetering on the edge between waking and sleeping, hazel with a green starburst around the center. His grip trembled as well as the man stubbornly tried to hold onto consciousness.

He needed to sleep now, here where he would be safe and warm. He'd gotten back the Inquisition. He was where he needed to be. Haylee reached up with her other hand and wrapped it around the one that held hers. That got his attention more than the bustling talking people around them. Haylee smiled gently at him, trying to convey that all was well now. After a long minute of just looking at one another, his hand finally loosened. Haylee pressed his hand toward. But before she could let go, he squeezed her palm one more time and spoke the first words either of them had ever said to one another.

"…Thank you."

His voice was thin and exhausted. But the fact that those words were for her…somehow that made the ordeal worth it.

The Herald's eyes finally closed and her hand slipped from his as he finally succumbed to healing sleep. The absence of the Mark's energy against her palm was as strange now as the first contact had been. Haylee didn't have the time to reflect on this as her vision dimmed abruptly and she swayed on the spot, fighting to stay conscious herself now that the life or death stress was gone.

She couldn't stand, even when someone told her she ought to. Finally, Haylee was lifted bodily off the ground and placed on a cot of her own. She felt weighted blankets being thrown over her and more magic as well. Haylee was no more successful than the Herald in her fight to remain awake. All was well. The Herald had been delivered back to the Inquisition. And they were both alive. For now, that was enough. So she slept.

***sigh* There, the dam is open, let the plot bunnies commence multiplying. **

**This little ficlet is based on something that happened to me in field camp a few years back. Except it was hot rather than cold, and it was a bunch of fiddle-fit team members who hadn't thought to bring water or encouragement back to those of us who'd fallen behind and were struggling. Not cool.**

**Anyway, I planned a ficlet on this, then decided stick with a one-shot, now I'm back to the original plan. Ain't the brain a grand thing. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the chapter. ****Thanks for reading and I look forward to providing more Dragon Age goodness to the web.**


	2. We've Met Before

**Well this fic got persistent, so I'm adding more to it. A romantic ficklet. I changed the name of our protagonist (I realized Mia was Cullen's sister's name. Can't go reusing names in this kind of fandom).**

Haylee woke alone. There was a frightening moment when she didn't know where she was. Sitting up quickly wasn't possible, and she winced when she tried. Weak muscles were no match for the numerous blankets that covered her. With enough shifting, she managed to free her head from its confines and saw she was on a cot in a mountain camp. Last night's events struck her all at once: the attack on Haven, the flight into the mountains, staying behind for the Herald and then traversing the mountain path with her hand grasped in his. The woman sought her own palm beneath the covers, massaging her hand at the memory, almost feeling the prickling, strange energy of the mark he bore. The man himself—the Herald—was nowhere in sight.

She straightened up with some effort. More of the blankets fell away, and the cold air slipped in to touch her skin. Her ascent was noticed. Mother Giselle herself appeared, strange enough for so elderly a Chantry woman. "It is alright, my child. You are safe."

Haylee shifted, seating herself properly with the blankets tucked around her. "I…Where are we?" She couldn't even begin to guess which of the mountain peaks around them bore names.

"Safe. And for now, that is enough." Mother Giselle replied gently. She touched the young woman's shoulder. "Rest. There is talk of traveling on. But not so soon that you need rise."

Haylee accepted the instruction, then gathered her courage to ask after— "The Herald. Is he…?" None of the other cots around her were occupied.

The Mother nodded. "He lives. You bore the journey more heavily than he did. Rest. While you have the time." The Mother saw she was given food and warmer garb, then went to attend the others who had borne injuries during the flight from Haven.

Haylee did as she'd been told and tried to rest. Warm food and some winter clothing helped, but there was no sleep to be had. Instead, she watched the camp itself. The people had fled with little more than what they had time to snatch up. There were grave markers beyond the perimeter, just visible through the tents: resting places for those who had passed in the night. Thank the Maker they were few. And those who did live? There was loss. But also a resolve and sense of hope in how they went about their tasks. How could that be? Were the people of Haven so steadfast? Was the Inquisition? They seemed to possess a divine spark she couldn't understand. And just sitting here, Haylee felt out of place.

It was a few hours, but gradually the camp was dismantled and the 'talk of moving on' became action. Haylee was on her feet by then, lending help where she could. And with that, the Inquisition set out for…somewhere.

The Herald led them. Alive, well and determined. Haylee realized _he_ was why the people remained strong despite the loss of Haven. The way everyone talked about him, how could it be anything else? They were convinced it was another miracle of Andraste. Despite the destruction of Haven and the army of Templars set against them, and the appearance of an Archdemon, he had somehow been delivered once again from what had been certain doom. How could he have survived such a thing unless Andraste herself was watching over him? And now he was leading them through the mountains. To where? No one knew. And yet the Inquisition followed without hesitation.

And of all that was said about the Herald, not one person mentioned him returning with anyone else. For a moment, she felt a little hurt, but brushed the thought away just as quickly. What did it matter that he'd come back with someone else? The Herald's survival was what mattered. The fact that he was still here to lead them was what mattered. Not the little 'no one' who'd come long. Haylee wasn't so sure she wanted people to know what she'd done, anyway. She'd stayed behind without any plan or equipment or anything. It had been very foolish. If not for the Herald, Haylee would have frozen to death alone on the mountain.

And the Herald himself? He seemed well. The fact that he kept ahead of the procession, apparently scouting himself rather than entrusting it to Inquisition members, proved it.

On that first evening, when everyone had settled down and the camp was recast, he passed by where Haylee was helping to mend what garments they'd retained. He was a striking man, The Herald. Of course she noticed his passing. And, for a moment, when he turned in her direction, she thought he'd recognized her in turn. Her heart leapt to her throat, desperately unsure what to say after what had happened on the mountain. But his eyes rested on her for only a fleeting glance before drifting on, intent on wherever he was going. Despite herself, Haylee deflated.

She shouldn't have felt denied. She shouldn't have expected any recognition, even from him. Perhaps especially from him. Their vision had been blocked by blinding snow most of the time. She'd been wearing her hood close against the frigid wind. He'd been exhausted and then very focused on making it up the mountain. All of which were perfectly good reasons for him to not remember her face in the slightest.

And even if he did, why should he have thought she'd actually waited for him? More than likely, it would have appeared that she'd gotten separated or left behind and found him by mistake. At which point, it was clear enough that he'd been the one to save her. Which he had, of course. What did it matter that she'd stayed behind? It didn't. In fact, she was lucky to come out of this invisible. What would she even do with the recognition if she received any?

...but that glance without acknowledgment did stick with her for a while.

XXX

The Inquisition's faith was rewarded. Through the mountains, with nothing but the unseen to guide him, the Herald of Andraste delivered his people to a new home: Skyhold. A mighty fortress set into the mountain, solid and imposing, large enough to house not only the Inquisition that was, but what it would become. Maker's breath, even lost in the wilderness, the Herald guided them true. Surely he must be touched by something divine. There was not a dissent spoken throughout the whole Inquisition.

This was where they would stand, rooted, against their enemy. This was where they would grow, thrive and fight back. Within a week of discovery, the first pilgrims began to arrive, people from the surrounding region. It wouldn't be long before word spread and more would come from further. The Inquisition was no longer an upstart group of misfits and malcontents, as had been rumored. They had closed the Breach and discovered a great enemy. The catastrophe at Haven had changed the Inquisition, even unto itself. They were more than what they were. The next step was to name a singular leader that would serve as the guiding light behind them. And truly, there as only one possible candidate.

The Inquisition, as it stood, gathered in the courtyard of Skyhold castle as Sister Leliana and Seeker Cassandra, the Hands of the late Divine Justinia, presented to them the Herald of Andraste, their hero and deliverer, now to be their Inquisitor. It was a great gathering of people. More than Haylee was comfortable with, even if their attention was directed singularly upward. But this was a monumental event, one she would regret not witnessing. So she tucked herself near the gate at the back of the crowd to watch.

To the Herald, the Hands of the Divine offered a mighty blade, symbol of Inquisition leadership. Haylee watched as he lifted it from Sister Leliana's hands, holding it before him reverently. Or some might describe it as reverently. At the back of the crowd, Haylee wondered if it he might be…uncertain?

Anyone else would call such thoughts blasphemous. She didn't mean to doubt him. It wasn't even doubt, really. It was concern. This was such a great responsibility and she remembered what he'd looked like kneeling in the snow on the mountain, replete with despair. Whatever anyone else said about him being touched by Andraste, she remembered him then: a mortal man. And she thought this was asking a great deal of him, no matter what god had a hand on his shoulder.

But he could do it. Haylee believed that, just like everyone else here, even if she saw him differently than they did. He _could_ lead them. And they _would_ follow.

Words were passed up above. Whatever was said, Seeker Cassandra stepped up to the lip of the stone and called down. "Have our people been told?"

The Inquisition's Antivan ambassador answered from somewhere toward the crowd's front, "They have. And soon, the world."

The Seeker continued, "Commander, will they follow."

Up at the front of the crowd, also hidden from Haylee's sight, the Commander shouted, asking of the people, "Inquisition, will you follow?" The people yelled, raising their fists in assertion. "Will you fight?" A louder response. "Will we triumph?" The outcry rose from every mouth.

The man standing above them looked down, taking in the entire crowd laid before him, the people calling on him, all the way to the very back where Haylee stood. She squinted, but there was no telling how this outpour of support was affecting him.

With the declaration of the people came the declaration they had gathered to hear. "Your leader. Your Herald. Your Inquisitor!" Maker's breath, the cheers! They were like a battle cry that shook the stronghold down to its foundations. Haylee was half tempted to clap her hands over her ears.

The Herald remained standing there, the blade of the Inquisition still grasped at his side and the wave of sound rising to bolster him. He was supposed to respond, wasn't he? Say something? Do something? Maybe the intensity of the people was a bit much for him, too.

The seconds ticked by, the crowd kept cheering and the Herald held, looking out over them all. Then he clenched his left hand and stabbed the blade skyward. The Inquisition roared in response and Haylee really did have to cover her ears. She couldn't take much more of this. It was a very impressive display. An open acceptance of leadership by their Herald and an undaunted declaration of strength from the Inquisition who would follow him. All wonderfully appropriate.

…but too loud for her. There couldn't be much more to happen here, so Haylee slipped around the back of the crowd and back to the keep without anyone really noticing, satisfied with her day's experiences.

XXX

There was so much to do. Impressive as Skyhold was, it had been empty for years. There was collapsed stonework all over. An entire overpass lay in rubble between the front gate and the stables. Sections of the walls had fallen away. The Great Hall was a clutter of rotted wooden benches that needed to be cleared out. Every third window was broken to some degree. Not to mention the layer of dust that covered everything.

Haylee and all others were in a constant movement, trying to clear away a hundred years' worth of neglect. Move this, clear that, mop here, clean there, fetch oil, hang these, polish those. Not to mention all the normal matters like watering the laborers, ensuring there were meals at regular times of the day, that laundry was done, and that latrines were clean. Haylee had served a few years as a maid, and then there was her time in Haven attending to the growing encampment of soldiers. This was a combination of both, to the extreme. But the time and effort were worthwhile. After a week, the larger areas had been cleared. After two, the main areas looked almost presentable. And every one of them felt a rush of pride that they'd been a part of it.

But it was all exhausting. Each night, Haylee could barely manage to eat what she was given, crawl into her tent and collapse in her bedroll. Especially today. There would, apparently, be nobility arriving within days. Which meant that the Great Hall had needed to be cleaned from top to bottom. A small army of servants, Haylee among them, had taken to the space with buckets and brushes, giving it the first proper scrubbing it had had in ages. Haylee's hands were sore and rough, she had blisters, two of which had popped already. All she wanted to do was go to bed.

Except, when she reached the place where her tent had been erected, she found the area empty of tents and the informal seating arrangement now occupied by off duty soldiers. Where had—?

Maker's breath, she'd forgotten. The servants had their own quarters now, set up even before the visitor's wing of the castle. Couldn't have the castle servants still sleeping outside where visiting nobility could see them and think Skyhold barbaric. Maker's breath, she barely had the strength to stay on her feet, how was she supposed to find these new quarters? It was…by the kitchens, she thought. All the way down the stairs and across the courtyard. Maker, that seemed like such a long way. But there would be a _bed_ at the end.

Haylee let out a long sigh and started the walk. She passed one of the crate and stool arrangements just as two of those seated stood up. Haylee's foot caught on something and she stumbled. A pair of hands darted out and took her by the shoulders before she could collide with the owner—and all at once Haylee found herself staring up into familiar eyes: hazel with green starbursts around the center. She froze, the breath caught in her lungs. The _Inquisitor_!

The world went still, Haylee leaning heavily on the Inquisitor, and the Inquisitor holding her up, their eyes locked, unblinking, the familiar energy of his Mark singing against her shoulder. She…she shouldn't be doing this. She shouldn't be…touching him. She was no one. And he was the Herald of Andraste. But she couldn't seem to move or look away. And nor could he.

The moment was disturbed when a towering grey figure appeared over the Inquisitor's shoulder. Haylee's gaze flitted to him in shock. The huge qunari warrior, the Iron Bull. Maker, how exhausted must she be to have even _considered_ passing so close to him!

The qunari grinned down over the Inquisitor's shoulder at her. "Hey there. What's your name?" His voice was low, but not nearly as frightening as she'd expected. And very…suggestive. He didn't look at her lecherously, as some men tended to. It was more that his eye held an ever-present invitation, one that Haylee was most certainly not going to take him up on. Many women about the Inquisition had spoken of…'spending time' with him. But she couldn't even imagine it. He was just so…_big_!

Haylee opened her mouth, but when nothing came out she closed it again. The Iron Bull just chuckled. "Kinda shy, huh? Don't you worry," and he reached up to tap the horns, "These are just to scare the bad guys." Her head jerked up and down in response. And he grinned. "And this here's Grim. Doesn't talk much. But he's a real gentleman."

Haylee looked back at the Inquisitor to find he hadn't taken his eyes off her. And, despite her best intentions, she couldn't help but be caught again herself. He had very beautiful eyes…

The Iron Bull gave the Inquisitor a shove. "You gonna let her up there, Grim?"

The shove put the Inquisitor off balance and he half-stumbled, which allowed Haylee to get her feet under her. Though he still held her shoulders. And her hands remained braced against his chest—

She dropped them, suddenly able to act on her self-consciousness. After a few seconds—and with some hesitation—the Inquisitor let his fall as well.

The Iron Bull wouldn't let them list into awkward silence again. "So where you off to?"

This time Haylee managed a word. "Bed." Maker, had she really just said that to him?

The alluring grin intensified. "You want some company? Like I said: Grim, here. _Real_ gentleman." The Inquisitor finally tore his eyes from Haylee to shoot a furious glare at the qunari.

Haylee took this chance to step away. "N-no. Thank you. I should be—Good night."

She did a hasty bow and fled around them, getting to the stair and down it as fast as possible. She got across the courtyard to the kitchen, and a little turned around once beyond, but ultimately found the servants' quarters and the bed she'd been assigned. Haylee hastily changed out of her day-wear, and wasn't satisfied with her escape until she had burrowed under the covers with them pulled over her head.

In spite of her exhaustion, Haylee stayed awake for a long while. What plagued her thoughts was not finding the Inquisitor mingling unnoticed amongst the Inquisition soldiers, nor the Iron Bull introducing him as 'Grim', nor the Iron Bull shamelessly offering the Inquisitor as a bedmate. No, what kept Haylee awake was how the Inquisitor had looked at her. His eyes, bright and deep, looking at her and _seeing_ her. And maybe even…recognizing her. In fact, the more she thought about it, the more certain Haylee was that he _had_.

In all the time since Haven's fall, no one had spoken a word of Haylee's involvement with the Herald's return. She'd accepted that her actions—foolish and rash as they had been—would be forgotten.

But no. The way he'd looked at her, he remembered. No matter that she was invisible to all others, the Herald of Andraste remembered her from that night. And Haylee had no idea what would come of it.

**As my dear beta, Breather, has told me, brave wallflowers need love, too.**


End file.
